Hypothesis
by jamesgatz1925
Summary: My first casefic for fuckyeahjohnlockfanfic august contest. If you like cases, read. If you like humor, read. If you like romance, read. If you like Johnlock sex...read.
1. Chapter 1

_***So this is my submission for fuckyeahjohnlockfanfics' August contest. It was a case or experiment fic that had to be 7,500 words long and have 5 out of I believe 31 prompt quotes in it (that's what the bold bits are). I wrote this in 48 hours so forgive me. I'm sure there are errors. Please review at the end!**_

* * *

**Chapter 1**

_The date is December 6__th__,, and today I'm going to tell Sherlock that I love him._

John erases that line. Sherlock gets emails about his blog updates, how unromantic and impersonal if Sherlock reads that before John has a chance to tell him.

_The date is December 6__th__, and I'd like to fuck Sherlock into next week._

John blinks at the screen as if he's surprised the words are there. He quickly erases that line and huffs.

_The date is December 6__th__,, and I think it's time to move forward and—_

"Move forward with what?" Sherlock asks from behind John.

John jumps. "Christ, Sherlock! How long have you been standing there?"

"Twenty-eight seconds, why?"

John takes a deep breath. Sherlock wouldn't still be standing there if he'd read what John just typed, so he doesn't ask about it. "No reason. You just scared me."

"Sorry. Writing up the last case?" Sherlock leaves John's shoulder and relocates at his chair.

John turns in his to face Sherlock. "Trying to. Sometimes these cases write themselves, sometimes writer's block catches up."

"Mmm," Sherlock answers. He's no longer listening, though.

John shifts uncomfortably in his chair. His stomach flutters with butterflies. Pterodactyls, actually, probably more accurately. John has been nervous about exactly three things in his life: his first kiss, his first time having sex, and sitting at Angelo's with Sherlock during their first case. John always kicks himself for saying, "Not his date!" far too quickly. But that's neither here nor there. John rubs his eyes to regain focus.

"Look, Sherlock, I need to—"

"Did you go to the shop today?"

John pauses and looks at Sherlock. "What?"

"I sent you a text asking if you'd pick up baking soda, bleach, and those chocolate things you know I like," Sherlock puts his phone down and looks at John. "Did you?"

"Wh—" John sighs. "My phone broke last night, I told you."

"Would you go now?"

John stares at Sherlock. "Now?"

"Yes. I need those things."

John scowls. "For what?"

"It's an experiment."

"Even the chocolate things?"

Sherlock smiles at John. "Please."

John loudly sighs. He stands, pushes his chair in, and walks to the door. "Anything else?"

"No, that's all thanks." Sherlock doesn't look at John, instead he begins tapping away at his phone.

"Arse," John mutters as he opens the front door and leaves.

Sherlock gives his reflection in his phone a wicked smile. "Oh, yes," he says to himself, "The game? It's freakin' on."

* * *

An hour before Sherlock had snuck up on John, he had been having tea with Molly.

"I love John," he said. "I really fucking love John."

Molly winced at the swear word but moved past it. "So what are you going to do about it?"

Sherlock smiled. "I don't know, I guess I should tell him, right?"

"That's what people usually do."

"I think it's about time," Sherlock says. "I think he'll enjoy me telling him."

"Yes, he would. You could take him close and whisper to him, 'John, I—'"

"Do you think John loves me?"

"Yes."

"How do you know?"

"Oh, you know," Molly smiled. "The way he looks at you. The way he talks to you. The way he will do anything for you. He just…does."

Sherlock smiled. "Yes, I think I'll tell him then."

"Good. Like I was saying, you could take him in your arms, look into his eyes and say—"

"Or," Sherlock got a wicked smile then, too. "I could make an experiment out of it."

Molly buried her face in her hand. "No, Sherlock. For the last time, you can't experiment on _living _people—"

"I'll do many absurd things to see if he'll do them, thus proving he does love me."

"What? That's mad!"

"It's brilliant! I want him to tell me first!"

"That's utterly mad—"

Sherlock smiled. "But so perfect. It's a safe, entertaining experiment, and in the end he and I will both get what we want. Thank you, Molly!" Sherlock stood, grabbed his coat, and dashed out of the shop.

Twenty minutes later, he was home writing up his experiment.

_Question: Does John love me?_

_ Background: By Molly's explanation, the way he looks at me shows promise. And the things he does for me. And he talks to me in a nice way, unlike everyone else. He's been my friend for years and hasn't left; he even came back when I left. And I love him, so he must love me._

_ Hypothesis: John loves me._

Sherlock smiled. Even in his own bedroom he was embarrassed by his hypothesis. He goes on:

_Experiment: I'm going to do absurd things to see if he really does love me._

_ Data: TBC._

_ Results: TBC._

Sherlock smiled and closed his laptop just as he heard John come down from his room. He went to the living room to greet John and begin his experiment.

* * *

John scowls the whole way to the shop.

"Bastard, always making me do things for him even though it's 7 o'clock and cold."

John pulls his coat around him tighter and scowls at the ground.

"He could do things, he knows that. He could do things for himself, but he makes me do them."

John finally arrives at the shop and quickly gets inside. It's very cold out and very warm in. He rubs his hands together and shivers the last bit of cold off him before he grabs a hand basket and makes his way through the store.

_Now, what did he need? Oh, right. Baking soda. _

John makes his way over to the baking soda and grabs a box. Then he finds the bleach and grabs a bottle. Finally he finds the stupid chocolate things and drops them into the basket. Before he leaves that isle, he grabs another for good measure.

John's about to check out when he glances outside and remembers it's cold out there. He'd rather not embark on his journey quite yet, so he thinks he may as well buy everything else they need.

_Milk, check._

_ Butter, sure._

_ Yogurt, definitely._

_ Cheese, oh yes._

John wanders and gets to thinking. Why is it Sherlock has him do things all the time? Why can't Sherlock? He managed alone before. _Because I'll do it, _John thinks. _Why do I do it? Why don't I tell him to sod off and do it himself? _John opens the door to the egg shelves. _Because he knows I'll do it because I love him. _John picks up a carton of eggs and drops them. _Christ, he knows I love him. _

"Sir? Uh…sir…" a young worker comes around the corner to question John about the eggs.

"Geez, I'm sorry," John says. He's a bit dazed.

"Are you ok, sir?"

"Yes, perfect, thanks."

John sets the basket gently on the ground and darts out of the shop. He practically runs home after that. He wants to get home to tell Sherlock, to make grand declarations, and to kiss maybe a little. But when he gets there his plans are changed.

"Sherlock?" John calls as he runs up the stairs. "Sherlock, where are you?"

"In here." Sherlock says from the kitchen.

John stands in the doorway and watches Sherlock examine something under his microscope. He smiles at Sherlock. "Sherlock, listen, I've got to tell you—"

"Did you bring my stuff?"

John blinks a few times. "What?"

"Did you bring my stuff? The baking soda, the bleach—"

"What? No, Sherlock, I've got to—"

Sherlock looks at John. "Why not?"

"What?"

"Why didn't you bring my items?"

"Because…I ran here to—"

"I need that stuff John."

"But I—"

"Go back," Sherlock demands.

John glares. "Are you serious?"

Sherlock looks back at his microscope. "Yes. I need that stuff."

John turns angry quickly. "Oh, now you're just being a pain. Go yourself."

"I can't, I'm busy."

"You're not that busy."

Sherlock looks at John again. "Please."

John glares at Sherlock. Hard. He thinks Sherlock's brain should burst into flame but it doesn't. Finally he gives up. "Fine." John turns and leaves without another word.

Sherlock smiles.

"Two can play that game," John says to himself as he walks down the street. "I'm not going to tell him. Now he'll have to tell me. I'll have my own fun."

John arrives at the shop and stands getting warm for a few seconds.

"Back again, sir," the young man from before greets him.

"Yes. I had a misunderstanding. Won't be long," John says, making his way through the store once again.

John thinks about his plan from now. _I could do ever single thing he asks and make him say it first. Yeah, that could be fun. Make him crack. _John picks up the baking soda and bleach first. _Or I could not do anything at all, nothing he asks, and make him beg for me. _John smiles at his own thoughts. _That would really be fun. _John gets the milk, yogurt, and eggs, and as he's leaving he remembers the chocolate things. He makes his way back to the sweets isle and finds them. Then he doesn't do anything for what seems like a long time. He just stares at the chocolate things.

Finally he wickedly smiles.

_That's it. I'll just fuck up a few things he asks me to do. His big brain will surely realize that I know and he'll be forced to give up. _John leaves the sweets isle without the chocolate things. _Yeah, that's it. _He pays for his items and heads home.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

_Entry one:_

_Date: December 8th. Experiment has been active for forty-seven hours and fifty-eight minutes. Nearly two days. _

_ Data: John has been doing all I ask, as usual. His mood, however, has not changed. He is acting the same as he always has. Experiment must carry on, for I have no data proving that he does, in fact, love me. _

Sherlock briefly glances over his computer screen at John, who at the same time looks over his newspaper. John smiles at Sherlock and Sherlock smiles back. It's his usual 'bite-my-lips-and-slightly-smirk' smile. John chuckles and looks back at his paper.

_On second thought, _Sherlock types, _a few minor behaviors have changed. Yesterday, noon, John's touch lingered on my back for more than three seconds. Usually, his touches are brief and quick, but it is still inconclusive. Experiment must carry on. _

Sherlock saves his work and closes his laptop. He doesn't have fear that John will find it, John never uses his laptop. And if he does, he goes straight to the internet. He doesn't snoop though Sherlock's files and such the way Sherlock does him. Plus, Sherlock's laptop is password protected. Granted, the password is so simple even John could figure it out (it's _science7437, _Sherlock doesn't realize that John wouldn't figure it out at all).

* * *

John lies in bed later that same night and stares at the ceiling above his bed.

"Right. Ok, let's see then. It's been two days and he hasn't cracked," John frowns at the ceiling. "This may be more difficult than I anticipated." John shrugs, "Not that I expected anything to be instant. I mean, it's been years already. It'll probably be about five more. Stubborn little—"

John's rant to himself ends because he hears a banging downstairs. "Oh for God's sakes." He throws his blankets off himself and storms out of bed.

"Sherlock? Sherlock!" John shouts through a thick cloud of smoke.

"In here!" Sherlock cheerily shouts.

"What the hell is going on?" John shouts, making his way towards the kitchen. He hears Sherlock use the emergency fire extinguisher. "What are you going?!"

"Well, you know baking soda and vinegar creates a bomb, correct?"

"Yes, I'm familiar," John says, waving his arms in the smoke trying to make it clear.

"Well, I enhanced the explosion using…uh…heat."

"Why is there fire? What's on fire? What are you doing? What is happening?" John asks all in one breathe.

Sherlock chuckles. "Well, I used gasoline and a lighter, and—"

"You what?!" John asks, finally reaching Sherlock. The smoke isn't clear, but he can see that the kitchen table now has a large black spot in the center. "Jesus, Sherlock. What were you thinking?" John makes his way over to the window and opens it.

"Bored!"

"Could you focus on something a bit less destructive, please?" John stands right in front of Sherlock. "Are you ok?"

"What? Yes, I'm fine."

John takes hold of Sherlock's shoulders. "Are you hurt?"

"No, John," Sherlock looks down at John. His voice goes soft. "I'm fine."

"God, you scared me."

Sherlock stares at John with wide eyes, wondering what John is about to do. _This is it, isn't it? _

John thinks about doing something, maybe kissing the infuriating bastard, but he doesn't. Instead, he pats Sherlock's shoulders, nods, and heads back upstairs.

Back in his room, Sherlock throws the door closed and raises his arms in anger at himself. "What the hell was that?!" he shouts at himself, throwing his body onto the bed.

Down in the kitchen, Sherlock stands stunned. John was so close, it could have been so perfect, but neither of them did anything. "What the hell was that?!" he snorts before heading to bed without cleaning up.

The next morning all is forgotten because John is very angry that Sherlock didn't clean up his damn mess.

* * *

Nothing much happens for a few days. Sherlock takes note every day of the progress, even though there is none. Touches here, smiles there. Nothing out of the ordinary.

On day six, something actually out of the ordinary happens, something John has never, ever done.

They have a client early in the morning. It's so early that John can be forgiven for not having his bearings yet, but Sherlock will never give him any such forgiveness.

The client is a young woman, about eighteen-years-old. She looked scared, John noted. She looked young and vulnerable and scared.

"So, tell me the problem," Sherlock says. Before the girl even sat in the living room, John gave Sherlock _that _look; the warning that he'd better be nice and behave or else he's going to be in trouble. Sherlock tries his hardest to be sensitive to the girl. "Take your time," he tells her.

"Ok, well, I've lost my father," she says.

Sherlock takes a deep breath. "Please define 'lost'."

"I just," she stares somewhere behind Sherlock. She's trying to find exactly the right word. "Lost him. Misplaced him. He's gone."

Sherlock leans forward in his seat. "Misplaced? When you say 'misplaced', do you mean—"

"He's gone, Sherlock," John dryly says. "She wants you to find him." John glances at the girl; she nods in agreement.

"Right, ok," Sherlock says, now apparently all caught up. "When did you last see him?"

"Two days ago. But you see Mr. Holmes—"

"Why did you come to me? Why didn't you go to the police?"

"I did, they couldn't help. You see—"

"Why couldn't they help? That makes no sense. You're leaving something out."

"Yes, I'm trying to tell you—"

"Let's see—"

"Sherlock!" John shouts. "Shut up! She's trying to tell you something."

Sherlock looks at John. "Well, she could have just said so."

"She was trying," John mutters. He looks at the girl. "Go ahead."

She takes a deep breath. "Ok, well you see, the thing is, my dad sent me a text saying he was going on vacation, and suddenly when I got home that evening he was gone."

Sherlock stares at her and when she pauses his eyes grow wide with annoyance. "Go on," he says.

"Well, first of all my father has never sent a text in his life. Second, he would not just up and leave like that. Third, none of his things are gone. Fourth…well, I just have a bad feeling about all of it. My father is a very successful man and people are always trying to go after his money. I fear something bad has happened to him."

Sherlock takes in all the information as she says it. When she's finished, he questions her. "Are your parents married?"

"Yes."

"For how long?"

"I don't know, about twenty years, I guess."

"Your father is wealthy, yes?"

"Yes."

"He's never done this before?"

"No. I mean, he's taken business trips and things like that, but he's never just left."

"Hmm," Sherlock thinks. "Does your father have an assistant?"

"Yes. Why?"

"A female? A young female?"

"Yes."

"He's having an affair. He ran away with her."

She looks shocked. "What…how…why do you think that?"

"Young, female assistant. Just took off. Suddenly texts? Trust me. Here," Sherlock takes John's phone from John's shirt pocket. "Call your father's assistant. Get to talking, you're both young you must have something to talk about. Without warning, ask to speak with your father. It'll catch her off guard. Don't be bashful about it."

The girl takes John's phone, nods, and goes into the hall.

"How did you know?" John asks once she's out of earshot.

"Wealthy head of a business, young female assistant. Not that difficult to fit together."

"Well done," John says.

They chat and after a few minutes, the girl wearily comes back into the room. She hands John the phone and sits. "Wow," she says. "What do I do now?"

Sherlock starts, "Well, you could move on with your life because—"

"Sherlock, sssshhh," John warns, glaring. He readdresses the girl. "Look, I know this could be a difficult thing. It does…well, it sucks. I'm sorry you had to find out this way. You could go home and tell your mother, see what happens. They're the adults. Your mother does have a right to know, though. Or you could let it go and have this horrible secret on your conscience. You should do the right thing."

She nods. "Yes, you're right. I need to tell my mother."

John nods. "I'm sorry," he says.

"Thank you," she says. She takes a deep breath. "Part of me is relieved he isn't, like, being help captive somewhere. But…I don't know. I can't say this surprises me."

John gives her a small smile. "It'll be ok, though."

"Thank you," she says again. She stands to leave the flat. She pulls her coat back on and John stands to follow her out. Before she's out the door, she turns back at them. "Hey, are you two…"

"Are we what?" Sherlock asks.

"You know…together?"

The out of ordinary thing John never does? When she asks, he bashfully smiles and blushes. "Well, we're just—"

"We're not." Sherlock says.

"Oh, sorry," she says. "I didn't mean to…uhm…you're just great together, you know? With my mum and dad, it's that one's the left brain and one's the right brain, and they complete each other. Well…they used to, I guess. But you two have that. Anyway, thank you so much."

All through her explanation, John smiles. It's a tiny smile, still a bashful smile, but he is smiling.

After the girl leaves, John and Sherlock are back to themselves. John makes Sherlock go kitchen table shopping and John gets ready for work.

* * *

Later that night, Sherlock writes the data up in his experiment log.

_Date: December 14__th__._

_Data: John is finally open to us being together and people assuming what they don't understand. _


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The very next day, after the missing father case, Lestrade calls. Sherlock expected getting a call any day now, he just didn't expect it to take this long. He decided when he started his experiment on John that when he gets a case, the experiment go on hold. Of course he'd need John's help, but Sherlock knew that he wouldn't have time to document and chart John's behavior. In addition, Sherlock's sure his mind will be too focused on the case to bother with _love. _

"Yes?" Sherlock answers Lestrade's call.

"I've got a case for you," Lestrade says, sounding almost sad.

"Must be difficult. Text me the address."

"Just come to the station, Sherlock."

"Fine," Sherlock says, hanging up and standing from his chair.

"Case, then?" John asks, following Sherlock.

"Yes. At the Yard this time," Sherlock pulls his coat on and tosses John's to him.

It's silent on the cab ride over. John doesn't really like silent, not from Sherlock. Silent, of course, means Sherlock's thinking, but John still doesn't like it.

"So…finally a case, huh?" John asks.

"Mhm," Sherlock barely answers.

"About time, right?"

"Yes."

"What do you think it'll be?"

"Hopefully a murder."

"Yeah," John says, eyeing Sherlock. "_Hopefully_."

They arrive at the Yard and go up to Lestrade's office. The room isn't empty. Inside is the head of the narcotics division, Hawkins, and the head of the special victims division, Smith, along with Lestrade and Sally. Sherlock walks in and looks at everyone.

"Very difficult, it appears," Sherlock says, revisiting his previous conversation with Lestrade.

"Yes. Sherlock, John, you know Hawkins and Smith, right?"

"Yes, we've met," Sherlock says, "But what are the heads of narcotics and special victims doing here? Ahh, let me think," Sherlock puts a hand up to stop Lestrade from explaining. Lestrade rolls his eyes. "Drug gangs have captive women," everyone looks at each other. "No, no. Children. Yes, children. But someone's been killed because Lestrade, you're involved. So, I only have one more thing," Sherlock stands right in front of Lestrade. "Who has been killed."

"Dial down the theatrics, Sherlock. This is serious," John says. Sherlock steps back and looks at him. John's face shows fear, regret maybe. Any case with kids involved makes him sick. "Who was killed, Greg?"

Lestrade takes a deep breath and takes the file from his desk. "Three children, so far. They have many kids they've been abducting. We don't know exactly how many, but there are quite a few. Three have been killed and, uh, sent to us."

"What do you mean sent to you?" Sherlock asks, suddenly very interested.

"They, uh," Smith clears his throat; Sherlock redirects his attention to him. "They've been placed in places around the city. Places with many children. As a warning, we assume."

"Right, ok," Sherlock says, clapping his hands together. He tries not to show his excitement, but it's not working. "Where have the kids been taken from? Abducted from?"

"Parks, mostly. A few from school, a few from their own backyards. But mostly parks," Smith says.

"And why am I just finding out about this? Many missing kids around London, didn't that raise a few flags?"

"We thought we had that under control, see Mr. Holmes? We didn't see a correlation in the abductions until after the third one from the same park in two weeks. Then two from another park those same two weeks."

"How many missing children do you have in files now, from the past month?"

"I believe sixteen."

Sherlock even looks shocked at this. "Sixteen missing children in four weeks and that doesn't alarm anyone?"

"Sherlock, stop," John warns.

"Yes, right. Sorry. Moving on," Sherlock looks at Hawkins. "How did you get involved?"

"Each of the three children had traces of cocaine and marijuana on them. Sprinkles on clothing and in their fingers. None in their blood systems, though."

"Right. Ok, good, yes," Sherlock mumbles. John clears his throat. Sherlock looks at him with apologetic eyes. It only lasts a second, though, before Sherlock is flipping through each case book. "First I need each missing child file for the past three weeks. I want a correlation. I want to know if age, gender, location, looks, anything like that stand alone in those kids."

Smith leaves the room to retrieve the files and Hawkins and Lestrade watch Sherlock flip through Lestrade's.

"Three children killed. Two boys and a girl. Ages nine, six, and eleven. Where were they found?"

Lestrade steps next to Sherlock. "One was found yesterday at the zoo. One today was found outside a daycare. And the last today was found at a park."

"Ok, so yes, places with many children. But why? To send a message, you said? What message?"

"We don't know," Hawkins says.

"That was rhetorical," John says.

"John, there you are," Sherlock looks at John, "I need you to go down to the morgue and get dirt samples from each of the kids' clothes and shoes, along with the drug samples found on each. Also take note of anything in common between the kids, like hair color, skin tone, body type, eye color. I'll be down soon."

John nods and heads out the door.

* * *

Two hours later, Sherlock's looked through every file of each child and has found nothing. Their ages vary from six to twelve, none are siblings, none have distinctly similar features, they go to different schools, and there are two more boys than girls, but that doesn't give Sherlock much to go on.

He paces Lestrade's office with each file spread out in front of him and each department head watching him.

"Think, think!" he shouts at himself. "Ok, let's see. These kids, none are siblings, correct?"

"Correct."

"And you've interviewed the parents? Did any of the parents know any other child or parent of another child?"

"None said anything about knowing anyone else who's child was just abducted. That's something that'd stand out, wouldn't it?"

"It could, or they didn't think to mention. I should interview the parents."

"I'll call them tomorrow," Lestrade says.

Sherlock looks at his watch; it's already 10 PM. "Molly's gone isn't she?"

John nods.

"Damn," Sherlock mutters. "I'll just have to run samples from home. Come on, John," he says, dashing out the door.

"I'll ring you tomorrow about interviews," Lestrade calls after them. Sherlock holds a hand up to indicate he heard Lestrade.

* * *

"I hate cases like this," John says in the cab going home.

"Mmm?" Sherlock asks. He wasn't paying attention to John, he was examining the samples.

"I said I hate cases like this. With kids, you know?"

"Yes, I know how you feel about them. If you choose to sit this one out, I won't—"

"No, no. I want to help."

"Good, Doctor," Sherlock says, then smiles at John.

John smiles back at him and watches as Sherlock redirects his attention to the samples. "Good thing I've got a few days off, eh?"

"The case shouldn't take long as soon as I get these samples done and get the parents interviewed."

"What are you looking for in the samples?"

"Location. Anything that will give me any clue, really."

"Have you got any ideas yet?"

"None so far. I believe the children are connected in some way. I don't know how, but I think the parents will give me that answer," Sherlock picks up the samples of drugs. "You said the kids had the drugs packed under their finger nails and traces on their hands and sleeves, correct? And trousers, right?"

"Yes. What are you thinking?"

"I think the kids are dealing with the drugs directly. Perhaps helping grow the marijuana and make the cocaine. It'd naturally get under their nails, and on their sleeves from rubbing against tables and such. And what do kids do when they need to wipe their hands?" Sherlock demonstrates wiping his hands up his trouser thigh. "They wipe their hands on their trousers."

"Yes, of course," John says.

"But I'm sure the kids are correlated in some way. I know they all have something in common, I just don't know what."

"And you think that's why they were taken? They fit the criteria?"

"Yes," Sherlock says. "I guess we'll find out when I can interview the parents."

John nods and looks out his window. Sherlock does the same.

* * *

All night, Sherlock works on the samples. He gets as much information as he can, but without the lab, he can't produce the results he needs. Instead of wasting his samples, he puts everything away and lies on the couch.

Since John went to bed almost as soon as they got home, there is no fire burning and the room is cold. Though Sherlock can usually get past such simple things and bodily needs, the room is far too cold for him to focus.

Sherlock huffs and hops off the couch. He stomps to his room for a blanket, but he can't find one. He only uses a sheet to sleep and never needs blankets. He goes back to the living room and stands in front of the fire place, but after the last time he tried to light a fire on his own, John banned him from lighting fires unsupervised. Sherlock thinks about going against John's rule, but the memory of how angry John was when Sherlock lit the chair on fire last time floods back to him and he puts the lighter down.

Sherlock quietly steps upstairs to John's room. He doesn't want to wake John, even though waking him would mean not having to talk to the skull. Sherlock makes it to John's room and silently opens the door.

Once in, he lets his eyes adjust just a bit before he searches for a blanket. Memory of John's room in the daylight help him move easily, but he has no idea where a blanket may be.

He decides to try the trunk at the end of John's bed. He remembers seeing one there once. Sherlock momentarily thinks of how he's been in John's room far too often, but the thought doesn't bother him.

He silently tiptoes to the trunk at the end of John's bed. He feels there, but there is no blanket. _John must be using it, _Sherlock thinks. He steps around to the edge where John is nearest and feels the bed. After feeling around for a minute, he finally feels the softness of a blanket. As he begins to pull it off the bed, John turns towards him.

"Sherlock?" John asks, clearly alarmed.

"Yes, it's just me."

"What're'ya doin'?"

"I just need a blanket."

John yawns and begins to sit up. "Why?"

"I'm cold."

"Go to bed then you wanker."

Sherlock quickly notes that John likes to swear when he's tired. "I'm thinking. But it's too cold to think."

"Jesus, Sherlock. Don't you have blankets?"

"No. And you told me to stop building fires without you present."

"I did, didn't I? Alright then, come on," John heaves himself out of bed and stands. He stretches a bit before taking Sherlock's hand in his and leading Sherlock out the door. John's using Sherlock more for his own stability than actually wanting to hold Sherlock's hand. _Don't be dense, John, you want to hold his hand so damn bad it hurts, _John thinks to himself.

"Where are we going?" Sherlock asks.

"I'm going to build your bloody fire," John answers.

In the dull light of the living room, Sherlock sees that John is only wearing pants and an old grey t-shirt. Sherlock knows John must be cold, too, so he takes note to thank John for this.

Also in the light of the living room, Sherlock can see…

"Good dreams, John?" Sherlock asks, nodding at John's crotch.

John looks down and covers himself. "Shut up. You're a man, and a genius. You understand."

Sherlock smirks. "Good dreams, though."

John huffs. "Yes, ok? I was in the middle of a very satisfying dream and you interrupted."

Sherlock tries to drop the subject, and he has no idea why he asks, but soon he asks, "Was I in it?" He immediately regrets this, but John doesn't seem phased.

John continues packing the wood and old bits of newspaper in the fireplace. "Would it make a difference if you were?"

Sherlock smirks. "I was, wasn't I?"

John lights a bit of kindling and watches it burn. "Have you got to be a dick about it?"

Sherlock smiles. He's glad John's not looking at him, because he knows it's probably an extremely goofy smile. "I didn't know you had sex dreams about me."

"I didn't say I was having sex with you."

Sherlock frowns. "Oh."

John smiles. He places the piece of wood in the fireplace and pokes at the newspaper below it until it all lights. Then he stands and looks at Sherlock. "Goodnight," he warmly smiles and walks back to his room.

Sherlock stands dazed for a moment, unsure of what to think about all of that. As John exits the room, he looks over his shoulder and calls, "Thank you!" to John. His gaze doesn't leave John.

"Stop looking at my arse," John says back to him.

Sherlock nearly chokes on the spit in his mouth and he looks back at his fire. He shakes the last ten minutes from his head and sits on the floor, very ready to focus on the case.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

The next morning, Sherlock gets called to interview the parents of the abducted children. He eagerly gets ready and hardly talks to John.

"You want to eat?" John asks, walking into the kitchen. Sherlock glares. "No, sorry," John says, not really apologizing.

John takes his time getting ready, which annoys Sherlock. Sherlock knows he could go without John, but he knows John is his more emotional side. He knows he'll get a lot more out of parents if John is there.

Finally, John is ready. Sherlock practically drags him out of the flat, gets a cab, and throws John in. Of course John's willing to move on his own, but Sherlock thinks he's wasting vital time. Why take your time when there are parents of missing kids to interview?

They arrive at the station minutes before the first parents are to arrive. Lestrade briefs them. "Alright, their son is missing. He's eight, and he was taken from a park while his nanny was watching him."

"He isn't one who's dead?" Sherlock bluntly asks.

"No. Those three parents…they have things to deal with this morning, so they'll be in later this afternoon."

"Fine," Sherlock says, as if he could control when the parents have time to come in in their grieving schedule. He takes the child's file from Lestrade and follows him to the interrogation room.

The parents arrive minutes later. Two men, actually. Sherlock notes this as the first thing that stands out. He didn't bother to check if this could be a hate crime. _Homophobia, racism…check later, _Sherlock thinks.

"Good morning," John says, taking the two mens' hands. "I'm John. This is Sherlock."

"Hello," the first says. "I'm Tom, this is Ed."

"Please, have a seat," John says. Sherlock just sits and waits for everyone to finally pay attention to him.

"What can we do for you, er—"

"Please, call me Sherlock."

"Ok. What can we do for you, Sherlock? Detective Inspector Lestrade says you have questions for us."

"Yes. We're trying to find a correlation between kids taken. Your son, David, was eight?"

"Yes. Eight years old. He went to the school near our home, I think the Detective Inspector said there was one other child taken from his school. We didn't know her, though. She isn't David's age."

"Ok," Sherlock looks through the file. "What do you do, Tom?"

"I'm a teacher."

"And you, Ed?"

"I'm a nurse."

"Do either of you hold positions of power?"

"No," they both answer. "Not anything specific."

"Are you two, or your whole family, involved in anything…like any organizations?"

"We're involved in a few LGBT rights groups here in London. Uhm," Tom pauses to think. "Ed is involved in a drug coalition group, you know to ban drugs and work on drug laws? Get the word out and all."

Sherlock and John exchange a glance. Drugs. That stands out a bit.

Nothing else is about the interview stood out to Sherlock, and after fifteen minutes of talking to Tom and Ed, he actually thanks them for their time and calls for the next family.

The next family is a man and a woman named Charlotte and Bob. Their daughter Kelly is missing. She is eleven years old, and she was taken from Charlotte's office building. Nothing about them stands out, but Sherlock decides to ask if they are involved in anything to do with drugs, or anything about drugs has happened to them recently.

"Well," Charlotte says, "I actually had to fire an employee a few weeks ago because he tested positive for drugs."

Sherlock lightens up. "What was his name?"

"Brad Kenneth," she says. "He was dismissed for testing positive for marijuana in his bi-monthly drug screening."

"Right," Sherlock says, "Thank you for your time."

They take note to look up Brad Kenneth.

The interviews continue and of the thirteen families they interview, three kid was taken from their parents' office buildings, six were taken from a park, three from their own homes, and four from school.

"These kids were being trailed," Sherlock says. "Someone wanted them for a long time and found their way."

"Of course," John agrees.

"Three families were same sex couples, so we can almost rule out a hate crime."

"Almost?"

"Yes. We never know. A few of those families were interracial."

"Ok, yes."

"As for the drugs," Sherlock begins. "Each family had something to do with drugs. Ed and a few others are involved in an anti-drug group, Charlotte and a few others fired people for drug charges—" Sherlock cuts himself off mid thought. "Actually…" he trails off, practically jumping for a few files. "Yes, yes!" he shouts.

"What is it?"

"The three taken from office building were the three parents who said they had to fire someone for drug charges."

"Yes…" John says, not quite catching up.

"And the six taken from a park were from parents who are involved in anti-drug groups."

"Ok…"

"And the four taken from school, those four parents are very active in their child's school drug organizations."

"Mhm…"

"And the three taken from their homes, those three parents' are direct lines to companies who do anti-drug campaigns. They worked in advertising or something, right?"

"Yes."

"Ok. So these kids were taken by drug dealer, or sellers, or growers, who have basically been hurt in some way because of the child's parents. That's it. That's their related factor."

"I see," John says, actually seeing now. "So where do we start?"

"Brad Kenneth."

* * *

They find the Brad Kenneth they're looking for that evening. He has three drug charges, two landed him in jail. Sherlock and John go to his house to confront him.

John knocks on the door and waits for Brad to open it. They ring the doorbell, they knock, but he doesn't answer.

"Help me up," Sherlock says, pulling himself up an edge of a window.

"Sherlock, not again. We can't keep breaking into suspect's homes."

"Children, John. Children are in danger. Do you want to stand there and wait for another body to come to us, or do you want to help me break into this man's house?"

John sighs and stands behind Sherlock, grabbing hold of his hips and pulling him up. Sherlock jumps at the same time and grabs hold of the window. "Almost got it, John. Just a bit higher."

John pushes and hard as he can and Sherlock grabs the window enough to pull himself in.

"Got it?" John asks.

"Yes," Sherlock says, pulling himself up. He accidentally steps on John's chest in the process of pulling himself up.

"Ow!" John shouts.

"Sorry!"

John waits for a second so Sherlock can let him in. They agreed a long time ago that Sherlock _has _to let John in buildings they break into, or let him in on plans. It's nice for John to know what's going on before they're being shot at.

"So, what are we looking for?" John asks, walking in the front door.

"I already saw it. Come on."

Sherlock leads him to Brad's bedroom, and instantly falls onto the floor next to his bed.

"This doesn't look like a clean place, Sherlock," John says.

"I hardly care. Here," Sherlock says, pulling a shoe out from under the bed.

"Ok?"

Sherlock takes a dirt chip out of his pocket. "Look," he says, holding the bottom of the shoe to the dirt chip.

"It's the same print," John says.

"Exactly."

"Where did you get that?" John asks. "That dirt chip?"

"I reexamined the bodies this afternoon. This was on one of their jackets."

"How'd it get there?"

"Judging by the bruise everyone seemed to overlook, he kicked the child."

John frowns. "Abuse, too?"

"John, they're making the kids make drugs and killing them after. I'm sorry, but the kids being kicked around is the least of our problems right now."

John nods but sulks. "So what now?"

"Well, I need to run the dirt prints and we can find where they're hiding."

"Great, let's go."

They make it back to the lab on time for Molly to just be leaving.

"Oh, I was just about to leave," Molly says.

"That's ok, you don't need to be here," Sherlock says.

Molly frowns. "I need to lock up."

"It's fine, I'll be here all night."

Molly sighs. There's not much she can say against him, he'll do as he pleases anyway. "Do you need help?" she asks instead.

"No," Sherlock says.

Molly looks at John. John looks at her apologetic. "Ok, I'll be leaving then," Molly says.

Sherlock sets to work on the dirt samples. There's enough dirt on their shoes and jackets to allow him to test just that. Once he sees it's all the same dirt, it's very easy for him to test and pinpoint a location. It takes all night, but he finds them.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

At 3 o'clock in the morning, Lestrade and his men head to the warehouse where Sherlock says the kids are. He has many departments involved, so he has two men per kid. Each of those men are to stick with his partner and get one kid out per pair. That's their goal, that way each kid will have two men protecting him. It was advised after Lestrade's team went to reinvestigate Brad Kenneth's house and found a very large, very empty gun cabinet.

They arrive and the place looks deserted. Of course they know better, so Lestrade leads his team in. Sherlock and John join, even though they were advised not to. Sherlock has confidence it'll be ok, and they both have a gun for themselves. And of course John's not scared. He wants to save those kids.

They head into the warehouse and slowly file in. Sherlock is at the head of the group because he knows he can find clues quicker, but Lestrade instructs each man to split up and sound the alarms on their radios to get the other men's attention. They do as they're told and split up.

Sherlock finds the boot prints of Brad Kenneth. He follows them to a door at the edge of the warehouse. He has a few men behind him, so he goes through the door.

"Sherlock, slow down," John whispers.

The room is dark and moist. "This is where the marijuana must be," Sherlock whispers.

"I can smell it," John says.

They keep moving and try to avoid bumping anything. Unfortunately, one man bumps a table and a glass breaks.

"Who's there?!" they suddenly hear. The voice is deep. It sounds like a very large man. Judging by his shoe clothes and shoe size, Sherlock believe it's Brad Kenneth.

"Nobody move," Sherlock whispers.

"I said who's there?!"

Everyone stills; nobody so much as breathes.

Suddenly an alarm sounds in the building and the men of Lestrade's team knows it's their radio alarms.

"God damn it!" Kenneth shouts.

The men super-freeze as their hear Kenneth jump off a cot and run through the room. Sherlock pushes back on the man behind him, who pushes against the next man, and soon they're all moving back towards the door and out of the room. Right before Sherlock exits the room, he hears Kenneth load his gun.

The move to the main room and go through a different door. The man in charge of their group sounds his alarm, and John scrambles to get his flashlight on. Once he does, he gasps at the first thing his light is pointed at.

"Oh, god," he whispers. "Sherlock."

Sherlock looks at John, then at his light. There, right below them, is one small cot with two sleeping children on it. They look hurt and dirty and malnourished. John's stomach drops.

Sherlock gets his light out and tells the man in charge to do the same. They spread through the room and count the children: amongst the tables of marijuana plants, there are only five kids in the room on two cots. They try not to wake the kids in fear of what will happen, but another alarm sounds and one of the kids wakes up screaming.

"Ssshh," John whispers. "We're the police, we won't hurt you."

The child screams for a second longer and slowly calms down.

"What is your name?" John asks.

"David," the boy answers.

John smiles as if he's met someone he's known forever. "I'm John, and you're going to be ok. Don't wake any more kids, ok?"

David nods. John motions for a man to take the kid, and one does. Two more men take the other two and they, accompanied with two other men, leave the room to get the kids out of the warehouse. John, Sherlock, and two other men stay back to continue looking.

As John times it, just as they're almost out the door, they hear gunshots and shouting. The alarms on both men's radios sound and John grabs Sherlock's arm.

"Come on, we have to get out of here!" one man shouts.

"No, not until everyone's out!" John shouts back.

They leave their room, which leads to another, and run into a room of more tables and plants. The door on the other side of the room slams open, so the four crouch under two tables, John with one of Lestrade's men and Sherlock with the other.

"Everyone up!" someone shouts. It's not Kenneth. He flicks the lights on and two kids scream. They hear the man yank the kids off their cot and move to, what Sherlock and John assume, the second cot. "Up!" he shouts, yanking two more kids off their cot.

From below the tables, John and Sherlock can see four pairs of kids' feet and a man's feet. Without warning, John's man point his gun and laser at the man's foot.

"No," John mouths.

The man doesn't listen. He doesn't take his laser off the man's foot. He's about to pull the trigger when the criminal notices it.

"Who the fuck is in here!?" he shouts. He fires two warning shots the direction of John and his man, but he misses. "You wanna play games?! I can play games!" the criminal shouts, and without warning, he knees a child in the chest.

The girl falls to the ground, injured but not dead, and catches site of John. "Ssshhh," he motions to her. She nods and doesn't move.

One second after that, Sherlock's man shoots the criminal in the knee. The criminal falls, sees Sherlock and his man, and when he's about to shoot, Sherlock's man shoots him right in the head. The kids scream, the little girl jumps up from the floor and tries to run away.

Commotion is heard from the room over, obviously they're moving quickly from just hearing gunshots, so John, Sherlock, and their men jump up, grab the kids, and run through the last room they were in. John and Sherlock give their kids to their men and instruct them to run, while John and Sherlock run back towards the next set of door, the one Lestrade went down.

As soon as they step into that corridor, they hear gunshots and shouting. Together they run to the first door and jump inside.

First, they see one of their men lying dead.

"Fuck," John whispers.

Second, they hear crying in a corner. They move to the corner and see a small girl, only about six, clutching her knees and burying herself into the wall.

"We're not going to hurt you," John whispers, holding a hand out. "I'm John. What's your name?" he delicately asks.

"K-Kayla," she says.

"Hi, Kayla. Come with me and we'll get you safe," John says. They hear more gunshots and John grabs her arms. "I've got you, don't worry."

They run into the hall and see three of their men coming at them holding a kid each.

"Here!" John shouts. One man stops and he gives Kayla to him. "Look after her," he says before he and Sherlock dart towards where they came from.

They enter the last door in the hall. It's dark and cold, and they can tell the room is huge. They duck under the first table they feel and wait.

After what seems like eternity of waiting, they hear an alarm, then a gunshot. They're not alone in the room, and obviously their men are in, but they wish they could see who else is with them.

They hear boots pounding on the floor, delicately stepping between tables, and Sherlock assumes it's Brad Kenneth.

"Where are you fuckers?" they hear, and they know it's Brad's voice from earlier. "Come out, come out…"

They hear a squeal that's cut off as soon as it begins.

"Shut the fuck up!" Brad shouts.

"He's got a kid," John whispers.

Sherlock nods.

They wait a bit longer until they hear Brad's footsteps near them. Sherlock points left, so John moves that way with Sherlock right behind him. They crawl on the dusty floor until they find another table and sit under it.

"We need to find Lestrade," John says.

"No, we need to stay hidden," Sherlock says back.

Right after he gets done talking, Sherlock notices Kenneth's footsteps stopped. They hold their breath to listen closer. Nothing happens instantly, but then they hear Kenneth shout, "You bastards!", then a gunshot, then a scream, then three pairs of footsteps.

Sherlock and John crawl out from under their table and crouch/walk towards the commotion. It's still dark, and they bump a few table, but since they hear no shouting from any member of the criminals, they believe they're safe.

They finally run into a member of their team.

"How many kids have you found?" the man asks.

"I don't know, eight or nine," John says.

"We've got the four that just ran out."

"Actually, we've got one more. I gave her to the men that ran out on our way in."

"Great. Kenneth's dead."

"Where's Lestrade?"

"We don't know."

The three men, John, and Sherlock rush out of that room and to another they hadn't been in. The room was lit and empty. Suddenly one man's radio sounded and Lestrade's voice came through.

"Officer Dowd, do you read?"

"Here, sir. Where are you?"

"Outside in the field. There are two more criminals out here, and they've got a child each. We thought we had all the kids, but there were two more missing."

John looks at Sherlock.

"Orphans," Sherlock says, as if he knew all along.

"We'll be out in a second," Dowd says. "This way," he says, motioning towards the first door.

They get outside and after five minutes they find Lestrade crouching behind a dumpster.

"Where are the two with the children?" Sherlock asks.

"Out there. They're just as lost as we are. They have weapons, but we don't know where they are."

Gunshots are heard a few yards away.

"There's an idea," Sherlock says. **"I still can't believe you get paid for things like this…"**

"Now isn't the time, Sherlock," John warns.

The two men Lestrade had, Lestrade, John and Sherlock's three men, and John and Sherlock follow the gunshots.

They run through the field and finally find another of their men. He's standing behind another dumpster.

"Where are they?" Lestrade asks.

The man points across the way a bit, towards the building. "Over there."

"Why don't they just go into the building?" another asks.

"They're locked out," Sherlock answers.

"How do you know?"

"Do you sleep with your keys in the middle of the night?" Sherlock asks.

Everyone shuts up for a second because they hear movement that direction. Then they hear laughing.

"We know you're behind that dumpster," a man says. "Just come out!"

They stay quiet.

"Alright, I'll come out. Let's talk."

From where they're hiding, John sees him come out from behind the wall. He's holding a gun, but no child.

"Come on, it'll be fun," he says.

Sherlock motions to jump out, but John pulls him back and jumps out instead.

"Ahh, here we are. And one without a vest. Unlike the one I killed earlier. Or was that two?" the man rambles. "Come on, where's yer gun?"

"Here," John says, touching his hip. "Just let the kids go and I won't use it."

"John, get back here!" Sherlock whisper yells.

"John is it?" the man chuckles. "What do you expect to accomplish, John?"

"Just getting the kids."

The man reaches behind the wall. "This kid?" he asks, yanking a girl by her hair and holding her close. He holds the gun to her head and she cries. "Let us go and I won't kill her."

"No," John says.

The man pulls the girl tighter. "Then shoot me or let us go."

"I won't do that."

The man laughs. **"What were you expecting, an open invitation?"** he laughs again, "Well if you are here it is," he spreads his arms wide. "Shoot me."

"No," John says.

"Ok," he points his gun straight at John.

John quickly draws his gun and points it at the man, but right then, Sherlock jumps from behind the dumpster and shoots. He misses, but the man quickly shoots back at them.

John, just as quickly, jumps in front of Sherlock and shoots at the man again. He hits the man's gun arm, but the man has enough momentum to shoot one last time directly at Sherlock and John.

Dowd, from behind the dumpster, uses the diversion to quickly shoot the man right in the chest. He stumbles back and falls, then the girl makes a dash and jumps into John's arms. John motions for the other men to run behind the building. They do and find one woman and one young boy there.

They arrest the woman and take the boy. They all quickly head through the building, to the ambulances now parked in the front. Lestrade instructs a group of men to scan the building once more while they check out the kids.

No kids are seriously injured. Most have scratches and bruises, and they're very hungry, but none are hurt badly. Lestrade gets three in a car each and they get taken to a hospital.

When he gets back to John and Sherlock, they're talking to an officer near an ambulance.

"That was brave, John. What you did back there."

John shyly smiles. "I was just acting on instinct."

"Wasn't it brave, Sherlock?"

Sherlock scowls.

"Geez, Sherlock. Lighten up. We won."

Sherlock scowls harder.

"Jesus, John," Donovan says, just recently joining them. "You're bleeding."

"Huh?" John looks where Sally is pointing; his bicep. "Oh, I am."

"What happened?" Lestrade asks.

"Uhm, don't know," John says.

Donovan leads him to an ambulance and Sherlock talks to Lestrade.

John takes his coat off, his shirt, and rolls up the sleeve of his under t-shirt. His arm is bleeding quite a bit and he hadn't even noticed.

"Let me see," the medic says. "Looks like you got grazed by a bullet," he says right as Sherlock walks up.

"What?!"

"It's fine, I'm fine," John says.

"I should put a few stitches on it," the medic says.

John nods and he sits patiently while his stitches are put on.

Once finished, Sherlock and John silently ride home in a police car.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Once home, John delicately shrugs his coat off and goes to the sofa. His feet ache so he pulls his shoes off and sits back.

"Tough night," he says.

"It's morning now," Sherlock says. "It has been since the mission began."

John chuckles. "Right, sorry."

Sherlock paces the living room for a minute. He looks like he's thinking, so John doesn't say anything. Finally, Sherlock screams out in frustration.

"Wow," John says, sitting up. "What's wrong? We won. You succeeded."

"That was a stupid thing you did, John! And you got shot!"

"I didn't get shot, I was grazed. I was just trying to keep you safe—"

"You shouldn't have done that! It was stupid!"

John snorts and falls back against the couch again. "Yes, people do the dumbest things for love."

Sherlock quickly turns to John. "Is that why you did what you did? Because you love me?" he angrily asks.

"Sherlock, I—"

"If you had died tonight, John, I would have never forgiven you."

"But Sherlock, I'm right here, ok? I'm right here and I'm not dead."

"But love, it makes people do the dumbest things. I can't have that, I won't have that. Kill for me, John. Never, ever die for me."

"But Sherlock, I love you."

"You don't. If you did you'd never die. Not even for me."

"Yes, Sherlock. I would, a thousand times I would."

"Why? Why would you do that to me if you love me?"

"To protect you. Because that's what you do for someone you love."

"No. You leave someone you hate."

"Sherlock, don't. **For once, would you please sit down and listen to me? It isn't rocket science… Well, not exactly**," John rambles, very confused by everything that's happening. "It might be a bit more complicated but," John shakes his head to regain thought. He looks Sherlock in the eye. "I lo—"

"You don't."

"I do, Sherlock," John begins to cry now. He can't help it. His heart feels like it's being ripped in two. He's never seen Sherlock this angry. He didn't mean for any of it to happen.

"Dying for someone, leaving them, is never something you do for someone you love. **And even if you prove me wrong, I will never agree with you**." Sherlock steps back towards the door.

"Where are you going?" John asks.

"Out."

John takes a moment to grasp the fact that Sherlock's pulling his coat back on and heading out the door. "Sherlock, wait!" he calls, running after Sherlock. "You just said you never leave someone you love!"

Sherlock turns back to him from the middle of the stairs. He's fuming with anger and can't hold back his words. "I guess that's true then isn't it?" He glares at John and darts back down the stairs.

"Sherlock wait!" John shouts, running after him. John catches up to him on the street. "What about when you left, huh? Three years, Sherlock! Three _fucking _years! You left me!"

"What is your point, John?" Sherlock asks, swiveling around to face John. He briefly glances at John's bare feet.

"Didn't you love me then? Me, Greg, Mrs. Hudson? Isn't that why you did it? Because you love us, because you love me?"

Sherlock stares at John. He notes John's red eyes and dripping nose. "Go back inside John. It's freezing."

"No. Not until we settle this. Tell me, Sherlock. Did you love me then? Do you love me now?"

Sherlock stares at the ground and doesn't answer.

John sniffles. "Just tell me the truth."

Sherlock is still very angry. He stands by everything he said upstairs about leaving someone you hate, but he doesn't want John to believe he hates him. He thinks about his words very carefully.

"Answer me!" John shouts. Passerby's on the street glance at them.

Sherlock jumps when John shouts. The anger he was just trying to repress gets to his head again and he shouts back, "No!"

John breathes out as if he just got the wind knocked out of him. Nothing's hurt for him this bad in his life, and he's been shot. He nearly doubles over, but he catches himself and stands up straight. "Great," he says, turning back to 221B.

Sherlock doesn't go after him. He turns the opposite direction and practically runs away.

* * *

John gets back inside and throws the door shut. It slams and for a second he thinks to apologize to Mrs. Hudson, but part of him doesn't care. He's so angry and hurt that he doesn't even know what to do. He wants to go after Sherlock; he wants to cry; he wants to punch something; he wants to sleep. He didn't realize until now how exhausted he's been for the past few days. And with almost dying? That can make you lose energy.

His stomach aches too much to do anything. He knows he needs a shower, but he can't bring himself to stand under the water for more than a few minutes. And Sherlock's things are in the bathroom. He doesn't want to see anything that has to do with Sherlock.

That rule extends to the kitchen as well. Sherlock's things are spread all over the table and he doesn't want to see it.

Without thinking, he stands in the doorway to the kitchen anyway. It's a mess. Suddenly he feels very angry. _No respect for anything that's mine, no respect for me, no respect for our flat, _John thinks. _**Respect? Respect this…**_John doesn't think any more before he realizes he's throwing Sherlock's mess from the table. One by one everything topples onto the floor and he doesn't even care. You would have though that would make it all better. But it didn't.

He shouts at the broken glass and mess on the floor, as if it's all their fault. He heavily breathes as he stares at the ground. His blood is boiling and his mind is racing. Sherlock's face swirls around, his angry face, and John feels hurt.

"Aaaaaaahhhhhh!" he shouts one last time and storms out of the kitchen.

John stomps up to his room and slams the door. Once there, he throws himself onto the bed without taking his clothes off. He's cold and needs to change his bloody shirt, but he can't think about that now. He punches the bed below him and yells into the pillow.

Then he cries. John thinks himself a tough man who doesn't cry, but he's jumped through so many emotional hurdles in the past two hours that all he can do is cry. His body feels physically tired and his brain aches. His heart, previously ripped in two, sobs.

"I can't do this," John cries. "I can't."

John lies face down on his bed and cries until midnight, when he cries himself into a deep sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

The next day passes unbearably slow. John doesn't get out of bed until nearly 2 PM, and that's after sleeping only about three hours.

When he wakes up he feels like he'd been crying all night. His body aches and his chest hurts, and the aching feeling of his heart being broken lingers with him. He can't bring himself to get out of bed, he can't bring himself to find out if Sherlock is home.

Finally at 2, he knows he needs to get out of bed. He grabs his towel and fresh clothes and heads for the shower. Luckily, he doesn't see Sherlock on his way. Sherlock's broken items are still scattered in the kitchen, not that Sherlock would clean it if he was home. John doesn't plan to clean it either.

When he gets out, he makes tea and sits on the floor. He knows he should eat but he doesn't feel like it. Everything just hurts far too much. He just sits in his chair and watches television.

* * *

Sherlock wanders London until the sun fully rises. Once it does, he heads to Bart's knowing someone will be there. Unfortunately, nobody will let him in because Molly is the only one that's got a crush on him. He shouts at them and leaves.

So he goes to the park. The park is nice and he thinks he needs fresh air to clear his head.

Once he sits and gets to thinking, he regrets the fight he had with John. He actually admits to himself that it was all his fault, He curses himself and falls against the grass.

"Why did I do that?" he asks out loud.

"Do what?"

Sherlock sits up and stares into the face of a little boy.

"Go away," Sherlock demands.

"What did you do?" he asks.

"None of your business."

"My Daddy said that when I do something bad I get time out or I apologize."

"Unfortunate."

"Do you need time out?"

"Why do you think I'm sitting in the middle of Regent's Park at 8 AM?"

The boy shrugs. "I'm Waldo," he says.

Sherlock remembers those silly 'Where's Waldo' books John showed him a few months ago when he was bored. "You're kidding."

Waldo shrugs. "What'd you do?"

"Nothing."

"I'm not going 'til you tell me."

Sherlock makes a face at him. "What do you want? Why are you here?"

Waldo sits across from Sherlock. The dark mop on his head bops up and down when he sits. His crystal blue eyes stare at Sherlock. "I can probably guess what you did."

"Ok," Sherlock says, crossing his arms. "Go ahead."

"Well, when my Daddy does bad things, my Mummy makes him leave. Did you hurt your wife?"

Sherlock laughs. "No. I don't have a wife."

"Did you hurt your girlfriend?"

"I don't have a girlfriend."

"Did you hurt your boyfriend?"

Sherlock stares at Waldo. "Why do you think I have a boyfriend?"

Waldo gives him a 'duh' look. "Because you don't have a girlfriend."

Sherlock smiles. "Ok, fair. Uh, well he's not my boyfriend, but I hurt him."

"What'd you do?"

"I yelled at him."

"Why?"

"Because he almost died for me."

"Isn't that good?"

"Why do you think that's good?"

Waldo gives the same 'duh' look. "Uh, Iron Man almost died for all of New York City because he loves them."

Sherlock looks confused.

"You don't know who Iron Man is?" Waldo asks.

Sherlock shakes his head.

"Well he's a super hero, and he loves Pepper. And New York was in trouble because of Loki, and he had to fly," Waldo raises his arms to demonstrate, "He had to fly into this big monster to save New York because he loved them. And then Hulk caught him and didn't let him die because he loves Iron Man even though Hulk is mean. So, they all love each other and help each other and Iron Man almost dies for them because he loves them."

Sherlock nods, then frowns. "Who is Loki?"

For the next hour, Waldo explains the entire plot to all the Marvel characters to Sherlock. In the end, Sherlock's still confused, but he gets the point of Waldo's story.

"So, John would die for me because he loves me?" Sherlock asks.

"Yes," Waldo says. "You shouldn't have yelled."

"I know."

"Now you have to say sorry."

"I don't say sorry."

"Then John will always be hurt. Do you want him to hurt?"

"Never!"

"Then say sorry."

Waldo's nanny comes from somewhere in the park. "There you are! I couldn't find you anywhere!"

"Sorry," Waldo says.

"Sorry if he bothered you," she says to Sherlock.

"He wasn't any bother," Sherlock says as the nanny pulls Waldo off the grass.

Waldo waves goodbye to Sherlock and trots along beside his nanny.

* * *

Sherlock gets called to Lestrade for follow up, so he doesn't head home until 5 PM. When he walks through the door, John is scowling at the TV.

"Home," Sherlock says as he shrugs his coat off.

"Where've you been?" John asks.

"I had to see Lestrade," Sherlock answers, walking into the living room. "I'm sorry, John."

"Sorry? You're sorry?" John shouts, sitting up**. "You can't just say things like that and then disappear for the rest of the day!"**

"I," Sherlock thinks of the right words. "I wasn't thinking John. I didn't mean it."

"You hurt me, Sherlock. What am I to believe now? I tell you I love you and you tell me you don't love me? That fucking sucks, Sherlock."

"I know, John. But I swear I didn't mean it. I see it now, I promise."

"No, Sherlock. I don't believe you."

Sherlock feels like he can't breath. He thinks of falling into his chair and dying there, but then he remembers his experiment. He tells John to wait and fetches his laptop. "I was experimenting on you," Sherlock admits.

John looks angry. "What?!"

"Not in a bad way, I swear. I just wanted to know if you loved me, so I was charting the things you did that showed promise."

"Where on earth did you get that idea?"

"Molly. I asked her what to do and at first she kept going on about how I should take you in my arms and kiss you**. It was as if she didn't understand the concept of 'shut up'.**"

"Why didn't you just take her advice?"

"Wh-what?"

"You've known I love you, you idiot!" John shouts. "I didn't know how you felt about me."

Sherlock frowns. "I thought you knew…"

"Of course not! I had no idea until a few weeks ago, I got the idea."

"Why didn't you do anything?"

"Because I needed to be sure."

Sherlock chuckles. "We're idiots, John."

"I know," John bashfully looks down. He stands and walks over to Sherlock, standing right in front of him. He reaches up and touches Sherlock's cheek. "I love you, Sherlock. I always have and I always will."

Sherlock bites his lip. He feels scared. _What if I'm rubbish at this? What if John changes his mind? What if—_but his thoughts are cut off because John is kissing him. Sherlock feels like he's flying. He wants to smile, but he doesn't want to move John's lips. **It's the happiest he has felt without chemical stimulus.**

Finally Sherlock breaks away and asks, "What about me? Don't I get to make grand pronouncements?"

"Go ahead," John says, smiling.

"I love you, John. More than anything."

John smiles. "Anything?"

"Yes."

"So…you're not that upset about the mess I made in the kitchen?"

Sherlock smiles. "I think we can find some way for you to repay me."

John smiles and kisses him again.

* * *

_ ***Bonus part that wasn't in the original story submitted to the contest. Warning for sex.**_

Soon, John and Sherlock's kisses become heated and frantic. Sherlock grabs the back of John's head and pulls John towards him, simultaneously parting John's lips with his tongue.

John's certain he's never imaged Sherlock to be this good a kisser. He didn't think Sherlock's had much practice in this area, but Sherlock's Frenchin' him like he's been doing it his entire life. **It is more than John wanted and that was good.**

Sherlock has one hand behind John's head and one on his hip, while John's hands are placed tight around Sherlock's waist. Sherlock pushes his fingers into John's hair and lightly pulls, while tightening his grip on John's hip. John's hands begin to roam, first rubbing circles around the small of Sherlock's back, then slowly he sends them south onto Sherlock's jean covered bum.

Sherlock lightly moans when John touches his bum. He doesn't mean to, but he does, and John rewards the sound by dipping his hands into Sherlock's back pockets and lightly squeezing. Sherlock moans loud this time and thrusts forward against John, making him moan again. He pulls off John's lips. "Sorry, I didn't mean—"

John looks into Sherlock's eyes. His pupils are so blown John can hardly see any blue. John loves this, doing this to someone; making them so aroused they can't control what their body wants. John loves the look they get; he calls them 'Sex-Eyes'. "It's fine," he says, pushing his head towards Sherlock's and pushing his tongue back into Sherlock's mouth. He thrusts his tongue in and out against Sherlock's at the same time squeezing Sherlock's bum and thrusting against him.

The angle isn't quite right, one of their cocks is digging into the other's bladder, more or less, but they moan and ravish each other's mouths while making a mess in their own pants.

After a minute or two of dry humping, standing in the middle of their living room, Sherlock pulls off John again and rubs his nose against John's. They're still so close their lips are almost touching, but they don't. "Bed?" Sherlock asks. "Bed?" this time he begs.

"Yes, yes," John says. He pulls his hands out of Sherlock's pockets and lets Sherlock pull him through the kitchen to his room.

Outside the door to Sherlock's room, he stops and looks at John. "Are you sure?" he asks.

"Of course."

"You have to be really sure. I can't deal with this not working or this going wrong or something. I can't…" Sherlock lowers his gaze. "I can't lose you."

John takes Sherlock's chin in his hand and tilts Sherlock's head up, looking him in the eye again. "I'm not going anywhere, I promise."

Sherlock gives him a small smile. John moves a ring of hair out of Sherlock's eyes and kisses him again. Sherlock quickly takes over and pushes John into the wall, still kissing him. He takes John's hands in his and pulls John's arms over his head, completely trapping John with the entire length of his body.

"Oh god," John says. He never realized how much bigger than him Sherlock is; he never expected that to turn him on so much.

Sherlock spreads his legs to even the height distance and stands so his and John's cocks are aligned. He thrusts forward and they rub together, and both men let out a loud groan. "Jesus," Sherlock whispers.

"And to think, I haven't even seen it yet," John whispers. "Oh, Sherlock, I'm going to fuck you so well. Best you'll ever have in your life."

Sherlock chuckles. "Well, considering the last time I had sex I was seventeen and it was a female, I'm sure this will be substantially better."

John goes tense in Sherlock's arms. "Sherlock, look if you don't want to…we could do anything else…I don't have to…"

"Hell no," Sherlock says. "You are fucking me, John Watson, and I don't care what you say. I need your cock in me so badly it hurts."

John smiles. "Let's get to it, then."

Sherlock lets John's arms go and instead pulls John by the belt loops to his bed.

Once there, Sherlock falls onto his back onto the bed. John stands between his legs and stares down at him.

"You're so gorgeous," John says.

Sherlock gives a lopsided smile. "John, I hardly think—"

"You do think so. You think you're gorgeous, I know you do. God, you're right."

Sherlock's smile widens. "Shut up and fuck me, John."

"I want to admire you. I want you to know how much I love you."

Sherlock sits up while John's still standing between his legs. "I know, John."

John presses his palm to Sherlock's cheek. He strokes a finger down his cheek bone.

Sherlock stares up at him but soon redirects his attention to John's trousers. He licks his lips and undoes the button. He looks back at John as if asking permission.

"Go ahead," John whispers.

Sherlock unzips him and tugs until John's trousers pool around his ankles. Sherlock watches them fall, then looks back up at John. John nods and Sherlock looks at John's pants. Black. Sherlock moans without realizing it. John chuckles. Sherlock smiles and takes hold of John's cock through his pants. John's chuckle quickly turns into a groan.

Sherlock strokes John and they both moan. After minutes of this, Sherlock takes hold of the waistband of John's pants and pulls them down, letting them join John's trousers on the floor. Sherlock doesn't watch them fall, though, because he watches John's cock spring free and stand at attention right in front of Sherlock's face.

Sherlock smiles and licks his lips once before licking at the precome pooling at the slit of John's cock. John moans and runs fingers through Sherlock's hair.

Sherlock licks at John a few times before taking all of John's cock in his mouth in one go. John's so shocked he pulls Sherlock's hair, but not enough to hurt him. Sherlock's finding that he might just like it if John does that. Sherlock deep throats him, then pulls off, then does it again.

"Jesus, Sherlock," John mumbles.

Sherlock sucks on the head while working the rest with his hand. He finds a perfect rhythm and does it expertly. After a minute, he looks up at John through thick eye lashes.

John moans. Sherlock looking up at him nearly makes him come, but he gets his head back and just pants. "Jesus, Sherlock," John repeats. "Where did you learn to do this?"

Sherlock pulls off John with a loud pop. "Research," he explains.

"What does that even mean?" John questions while Sherlock continues to slowly stroke him.

Sherlock smirks. "I watched porn, John."

John stares at Sherlock. "You watched girls suck mens' dicks so you could do this?"

Sherlock lets John go and falls back onto the bed again. "I didn't say I watched women do it."

John smiles at Sherlock. "Right, then. Let me see yours," John demands.

Sherlock lays back and stretches his hands behind his head. "Have at it," he says.

John falls over him and kisses him once before pulling back again and instantly taking hold of Sherlock's button and zipper. He doesn't waste time, he undoes them both and pulls Sherlock's trousers down, flinging them over his shoulder. "Silk," John comments as he touches Sherlock's cock through his pants.

Sherlock closes his eyes for a second and nods. "Nothing but the best," he says.

John smiles and dips his head to the dark patch near the waistband of Sherlock's pants. He sucks the spot into his mouth and tastes Sherlock's precome. He moans at the taste. "Ok, I have to taste you," he says, pulling Sherlock's pants off.

He licks one slow swipe up Sherlock's cock with his entire tongue. Sherlock arches his back and reaches for John's head. Nobody's ever done this to him before and he never expected it to feel this good. His fingers roam over John's sandy blonde hair before John sucks Sherlock's head into his mouth and tongues the slit.

"Fuck," Sherlock whispers, grabbing at John's hair.

"Should I make you come before I take you or keep you on edge?" John asks.

"Keep me on edge, dear god yes," Sherlock says, quickly unbuttoning his shirt.

"On the pillows, then," John says, nodding at the pillows on Sherlock's bed.

Sherlock shuffles backwards until he's in the right position, then sits up and pulls his shirt off.

"Have you got lube or condoms?" John asks.

"I know you have some in the bathroom," Sherlock replies.

John pulls his pants back up and smiles at Sherlock before leaving the room. He gets the lube but leaves the condoms. His last tests were ran just a month ago and he knows Sherlock's were only two weeks ago. He doesn't want anything between them, not with the man he loves.

When John returns to the room, he's treated to a site he wishes he'd have seen years ago: Sherlock simply stroking himself, one arm behind his head and the other giving himself a leisurely wank.

"Dear god," John says, "Had I seen that years ago I'd have been able to relieve much needed sexual frustration."

Sherlock smiles. "Have you always wanted to fuck me, John?"

"Yes. You're gorgeous, I'm a man. Of course I wanted to."

"Why didn't you a long time ago?"

"I didn't know you wanted to," John says, pulling his pants back down and kneeling on the bed. He shuffles forward on his knees before falling over Sherlock and kissing him.

"John," Sherlock says as John moves his lips south to Sherlock's neck.

"Mmm?"

"Why are you still wearing a shirt?"

"Oh, uh…" John begins to pull away from Sherlock.

"Don't, John," Sherlock pleads, pulling John back to him. "Tell me."

"You already know."

"But after you say it I can prove you wrong."

John takes a deep breath. "My scar," he admits.

Sherlock smiles. "You are so wrong, John Watson. Your scar is the sexiest thing on your body."

John looks away from Sherlock's face. "Stop, Sherlock."

Sherlock takes Johns' face in his hands and makes John look at him. "John, I can name the reasons why your scar is sexy. First, it's because of what it means. You almost died John, for our country. That thing about dying for something you love, that was stupid of me to disagree with. You did the most noble thing ever and got shot at war for your country. That, my dear, is sexy. Second, it makes you so manly and brave…it's hot, John. It is." Sherlock kisses John and drops his hand down to John's shoulder. "God, John, you have no idea how sexy it is."

John smiles. "Alright, alright. Nobody's thought it's sexy before."

"Everyone is an idiot."

John smiles wider. "Ok, if you say it's sexy, I'll take my shirt off."

"Please, John," Sherlock begs. "I need to feel you against me."

John sits back on his knees and pulls the shirt over his head. Sherlock moans. John smiles at that. Sherlock sits up and runs his hands over John's stomach. He's not military grade in shape, but he's still got a bit there. Sherlock's fingers run over his skin and he gets goosebumps.

Sherlock's hand run up to his chest, both hands taking hold of each nipple. John moans when Sherlock pinches, but soon he leaves off John's nipples and looks at John's scar. He dips his finger into each dip and gash, he touches all of it. Sherlock soon looks back at John's face. John sees the Sex-Eyes again and he attacks Sherlock in a kiss.

Sherlock moans when their chests touch. He arches into John's skin, rubbing his entire self against John. Their tongues touch and finally all of them is touching; every fiber becomes one. John takes Sherlock's head in his hands and runs his fingers through the hair behind Sherlock's ears. Sherlock runs his hands up and down John's back.

"God, Sherlock," John mumbles, "You're so fucking beautiful, so fucking hot…"

"Come on, John. I can't wait any longer," Sherlock says as John leaves open mouthed kisses on his neck.

"Ok, ok," John says. He sits back on his heels again and reaches for the lube he left at the foot of the bed.

"No condom?" Sherlock asks.

"Never between us, not ever."

"Ok, yes," Sherlock mumbles.

John spreads Sherlock's legs and leans down to kiss his thigh. Goosebumps raise and John smiles. "Are you ready?"

"Yes, for god's sakes!"

"Ok, ok. No need to get snippy," John says.

John lubes his middle finger with far more lube than needed and circles it around Sherlock's hole, getting the entrance wet.

"Feels good," Sherlock says.

"It gets so much better," John says.

"You've done this?"

"Oh, yeah."

"I didn't even know you liked men until today."

"I've always liked men," John pushes the tip of his finger into Sherlock and Sherlock grunts. "You're a man."

Sherlock breathes deep. "Yes, but I didn't know you fancied other men."

"I don't fancy other men. Not anymore." John pushes his finger deeper into Sherlock. "Keep talking, baby."

Sherlock smiles. "Baby? I like that."

"Yeah? There are more," John circles his finger inside Sherlock and pushes it deeper. "How about, 'Honey, you are so fucking sexy.'?"

Sherlock smiles. "You keep saying that."

"Doesn't make it any less true. Actually, it's becoming more and more true by the inch." John begins thrusting his finger slowly in and out of Sherlock, avoiding his prostate yet.

Sherlock moans.

John feels him begin to tighten and natural push him out, so John talks more. "How about, 'Sweetie, your arse is fucking divine.'?"

"You swear when you're aroused," Sherlock states.

"Brilliant observation, detective."

Sherlock chuckles. "I think I like it."

"So, pet names and swearing? Got it. Anything else?"

"Your cock, please."

John smiles. "Almost."

John takes his finger out of Sherlock and applies more lube to his index and middle finger. He strokes Sherlock's thigh and easily pushes his fingers in.

"Oh my god," Sherlock babbles.

"Good?"

"Yes."

Sherlock grabs the hand John has on his thigh and squeezes it.

"Keep talking," John demands.

"I want you in me, John," Sherlock says, it's the first thing he can think of.

"I can't wait to be. I've wanted to be for so long."

"Did you think about it?"

"All the time."

"Have you ever masturbated to me?"

John smiles. "All the time."

Sherlock smiles. "What did you imagine?"

"Everything," John pushes his fingers deep into Sherlock, still avoiding his prostate. "Us fucking in the shower, at the Yard, in the kitchen—"

"Yes, but what specifically? What thought did you go to most? Intercourse, fellatio, hand jobs…"

"Uh," John thinks that over while watching his fingers thrust in and out of Sherlock. "Intercourse most often. I've wanted to fuck you for so long."

Sherlock nods. "Me too."

"You masturbated to me?"

Sherlock nods again. "Yes. Many times. I hadn't had an erection since I was eighteen until I met you. It was quite surprising."

"What did you think about the first time?"

"This," Sherlock explains. "You in me. It's all I've wanted."

"Soon, Sherlock. I promise," John says, scissoring his fingers inside Sherlock.

"Now, please," Sherlock begs.

"Not yet. Not ready."

"Now John, for god's sakes. Please!"

John thrusts his fingers in Sherlock a few more times and pulls out. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, please!"

"Ok, ok, yes," John pulls his hand out and grabs the lube. He slicks up well and instructs Sherlock to stroke himself. "Are you ready?"

"Yes."

John leans forward over Sherlock and gets in position. He takes his slicked up hard on in hand and presses the head slowly into Sherlock.

"Yes, yes, yes," Sherlock babbles.

"Relax," John instructs.

Sherlock does. His body completely relaxes and John pushes in more.

"Oh my god," John mumbles. "So fucking tight." He pushes in more.

Sherlock free hand strokes John's arm. John pushes in more, very slowly, while Sherlock moans and strokes himself. John watches him do it and wants to be doing it for him, but he's concentrating on slowly thrusting in and holding himself up so he doesn't crush Sherlock.

Finally, John is in Sherlock all the way to the hilt. They both moan and lock eyes. John moves his arms so he's got one hand on the bed at either side of Sherlock's head, and Sherlock strokes his ribs.

"Ready?" John asks.

Sherlock nods.

John pulls almost all the way out and thrusts slowly back in. Sherlock's back arches and he moans loudly. He digs his fingernails into John's hips and scratches at John's skin.

"Jesus, I can't wait until you come," John says.

He thrusts slowly but builds a rhythm. He pulls almost all the way out and slowly pushes back in three times, and on the fourth go he hits Sherlock's prostate.

"Oh dear god!" Sherlock yells. He locks his legs around John's waist so John can barely move, then he wraps his arms around John's chest and pulls John down on top of him.

John lets himself be pulled, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's neck and beginning to thrust quicker and as deep as he can. He hits Sherlock's prostate nearly every time, pulling delicious moans from Sherlock and causing Sherlock to scratch John's back.

"Jesus, I love you," John whispers.

"I love you too John, I love you, I—"

John cuts Sherlock off by thrusting almost as hard as he can at this angle and being pressed so close to Sherlock. His hips work quickly and his cock presses against Sherlock's prostate every time. For more leverage, John pulls an arm from under Sherlock's head and places his hand on the head board. That way he's able to move more of his lower body and less of his upper body, causing harder thrusts.

Sherlock repays him by nearly shouting and scratching deep. "Fuck, John! Yes, ugghhhhh!"

John pulls up just a little bit to make enough space for Sherlock to stroke himself. "Touch your cock, Sherlock, mmmmmmm," John doesn't break his rhythm.

Sherlock takes a hand off John's back and spits on his palm, then reaches between them and takes hold of his cock. He lets the force of John's thrusts push his cock in his hand, he just hold his arm there. He moans with the double sensation and digs his nails into John's arse.

"I'm gonna come, John!" Sherlock shouts.

"Yes, yes, please!"

Sherlock tightens his hand and John thrusts deep, and within three thrusts, Sherlock's coming onto his hand and stomach. It's the most intense orgasm he's ever had; of course he's been giving himself orgasms since John after the first time he accidentally saw John's arse nearly five years ago.

Sherlock's arse tightens around John's cock when he begins to orgasm, and John shallows his thrusts so his cock stays inside Sherlock while Sherlock pulses. Within seconds of Sherlock's orgasm starting, John is coming deep inside Sherlock and shouting, "Oh Sherlock, oh Sherlock, ooh!"

Once they finish riding out their orgasms, John falls completely on top of Sherlock and Sherlock lowers his legs and pulls John as close to him as possible. They can probably feel each other's heart beats how close they are. Sherlock smiles and presses his nose into the hair behind John's ear. John feels him smiling against his ear.

"That was," Sherlock purrs, "The single most incredible thing ever."

John smiles against the pillow under Sherlock. He turns his head so his nose is buried in Sherlock's hair. "And to think, that was simple intercourse."

"Oh yes," Sherlock says. "I can't wait to try rimming."

John smiles. "Baby steps, love. We have all the time in the world."

They lie there for a second before John pulls out and lays beside Sherlock.

Sherlock turns onto his side and curls up against John. "Can I do you next time?" he asks.

"You need to cut your bloody fingernails before you get those fingers anywhere near my arse."

Sherlock smiles. "Sorry about the scratching."

"God no, it was perfect. But I don't want those fingers up me with those things. I might be bleeding."

Sherlock laughs. "I'll take care of them."

John turns his head to look at Sherlock. "I love you."

"I love you too, John. Only you. Only ever you."

John turns onto his side and wraps his arms around Sherlock.

They fall asleep and wake up sometime in the middle of the night. John makes them eggs while Sherlock attempts to clean the mess in the kitchen, but John shoos him away and promises he'll pay for damages.

_***Back to original submission.**_

* * *

Later that night, they sit in Sherlock's bed and John is checking his email on Sherlock's laptop. "So what was the experiment?" he asks.

"I was charting your actions."

"Show me," John says.

"Ok, here," Sherlock takes his laptop from John. John rests his chin on Sherlock's shoulder. "Here's the data I retrieved."

"Results is empty," John observes.

"Yes, my experiment was abandoned when we got the case."

John kisses Sherlock's shoulder. "You could finish it now."

Sherlock smiles.

_Question: Does John love me?_

_ Background: By Molly's explanation, the way he looks at me shows promise. And the things he does for me. And he talks to me in a nice way, unlike everyone else. He's been my friend for years and hasn't left; he even came back when I left. And I love him, so he must love me._

_ Hypothesis: John loves me._

_Experiment: I'm going to do absurd things to see if he really does love me._

_ Data: _

_Date: December 8th. Experiment has been active for forty-seven hours and fifty-eight minutes. Nearly two days. _

_ Data: John has been doing all I ask, as usual. His mood, however, has not changed. He is acting the same as he always has. Experiment must carry on, for I have no data proving that he does, in fact, love me. _

_On second thought, _Sherlock types, _a few minor behaviors have changed. Yesterday, noon, John's touch lingered on my back for more than three seconds. Usually, his touches are brief and quick, but it is still inconclusive. Experiment must carry on. _

_ Data: John would die for me._

_ Results: John loves me._

John looks at Sherlock, grabs his face, and kisses him_._

_~Fin._


End file.
